Midnight Clear
by LynstHolin
Summary: Drarry. Harry Potter crashes a Pureblood Christmas party and has an interesting encounter with Draco Malfoy.


Warnings: suggestiveness, partying and general bad behavior.

...

With a triumphant grin on his freckled face, Fred Weasley held aloft a glass globe with a golden ticket suspended inside of it. "Is that what I think it is?" Ron asked.

"It most certainly is, brother. This little ticket is the portkey that will take us to the Pureblood Party, Christmas edition," George said.

"And it's tonight, and we're all going!" added Fred.

"Um, Fred, you do realize that Hermione and me aren't Purebloods, right?" Harry Potter asked.

"Yeah, it'd be bad enough, us blood-traitor Weasleys showing up. If a Muggle-born pops in, things could get gruesome," Ron said.

"We've thought of that," said Fred.

George held two flasks aloft. "Harry, you'll be Bill, and Hermione will be Ginny."

Ginny looked outraged. "Then who will I be?"

"You will be the girl who's not going." George answered.

"Because you're too young to be around that sort of debauchery," Fred finished.

"That's _not fair._" Ginny's face turned red, and she stomped out Ron's bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

"The party starts in fifteen minutes," Fred said. "Just take a sip. You'll need to make the Polyjuice Potion last all night."

Hermione frowned. "I don't think this is a very good idea. I've heard about what goes on at those parties. Drinking, drugs, indecent behavior-"

The twins flanked Hermione. "You study too hard," said Fred.

"You need to cut loose a little." George held the flask up to her lips and she drank. Harry took a sip from his. It wasn't bad; it sort of tasted like strawberry wine. As he started to change, the twins threw some Bill-style clothes at him: tight jeans, a silk shirt, knee-high boots of dragon hide. As he stripped down to his underwear, long ginger hair tickled his shoulders.

Hermione didn't need to change her clothes. She and Ginny were close to the same size, and the sweater and skirt she had on fit just fine. "Where did you get that ticket, anyway?" she asked.

Fred smirked. "I made the right girl very happy."

"I _do not _want to hear any more."

Fred set the globe on the bed. A tap of the wand made the glass disappear, and the ticket expanded, becoming a pillow. "On three, grab on. One, two, threeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-"

The five of them were dropped into a street lined with warehouses. There was a stack of golden pillows in front of one rusty, metal door. A group of girls in winter clothing went through that door, and Harry followed. Just inside was a hairy, burly man, wearing leather trousers and no shirt. Harry was pretty sure he was a werewolf. "Check your wands," he grunted, holding an enormous hand out.

"Give you my _wand_?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Those are the rules. Check your wand, or go home."

"Hurry up!" shouted someone behind Harry.

Harry gave the werewolf his wand, recieving a numbered ticket in return. Going through another door, Harry saw the girls that had gone in ahead of them say a charm. Their coats and heavy boots vanished like smoke, revealing skimpy outfits.

"I _knew_ I was going to like it here," leered George. He and his twin immediately took off to find dance partners. Ron made a bee-line for the bar.

"I'm going to be so conspicuous," Hermione moaned. She was right. Every other girl there was dressed sexily, with many of them wearing tarted up Christmas costumes. There were a lot of slutty Mrs. Clauses and elves. There were slutty reindeer, slutty gingerbread men, even a slutty snowflake and a slutty Christmas tree. Hermione glared at Harry. "I suppose you think this is the absolute best thing ever."

Looking at Pansy Parkinson, who was wearing a red bikini top with the shortest skirt imaginable, Harry shook his head. "I don't know. There seems to be something a bit... desperate about it." Parkinson had on candy-cane striped over-the-knee stockings, and was trying very hard to get the attention of Draco Malfoy, who was sipping a cocktail and looking off into the distance. He was dressed in a Muggle suit of violet sharkskin. His shirt and tie were also violet, and he looked like he'd just stepped out of one of the mens' fashion magazines that Bill liked to read. Noticing Harry's stare, he sneered, "Oh, look, it's a visitor from the Weasels' nest!" Parkinson screeched with laughter. Crabbe and Goyle, who were awkward in over-sized jeans and hoodies, joined in. Harry flipped them off.

"They're all pretending to be Muggles," Hermione said. She was right. The warehouse was lit with electric lights, and the music was being played by a deejay with two turntables. A Spice Girls song was playing, and everyone on the dance floor was dressed Mugglish. "So, I guess this is how Pureblood kids rebel."

Harry headed for the bar, feeling disoriented by the strobes and the little moving bits of light that the mirrorball cast on the floor. Ron was nowhere to be seen. The bartender, a woman in short-shorts and halter top, looked him up and down. "Can I do anything for you, gorgeous?" she shouted over the music.

"Firewhiskey?"

"Sorry, there're only Muggle drinks served here."

Harry thought a moment, then asked for the only drink he could think of. "A martini, please?"

The bartender looked amused. "Shaken, not stirred?"

"Um, I suppose." The first sip he took made him cough. It was like drinking gasoline. He was eating the olive when Hermione ran up to him, looking traumatized. "What happened to you?"

"Goyle asked me to kiss him under the mistletoe."

"That's got you all upset?"

Hermione covered her face with her hands. "The mistletoe is on his _belt buckle_." Harry started laughing. "Oh, do shut up," she snapped, but she was laughing, too.

After the first few sips, the martini went down a little easier. Too easily, perhaps. Harry felt a bit woozy, which wasn't helped by the heat that hundreds of bodies generated. He took a swig of the Polyjuice Potion. The bartender handed him another martini. His attention was caught by Crabbe sneaking up on Parkinson and untying her bikini top. She screamed and crossed her arms over her chest as the garment fell to the floor. The girl looked over to see if Malfoy had noticed, but he was staring into space again as he smoked a cigarette.

Harry watched the dancers for a while. He was struck again by how _desperate_ everyone was. Not just the scantily-clad girls, nearly everyone there. It seemed like they trying to deny the reality of wartime with frantic hedonism. Boys pounded down drinks and smoked mysterious things out of pipes, girls competed to get the attention of the boys, and couples were openily engaging in... _oh_. Harry could have happily lived his life without seeing what he was seeing. "The mistletoe on the belt buckle ploy actually _worked_?" Hermione asked incredulously. Grimacing, she turned her back on the spectacle. "I'm going to find the twins. We need to go. It's getting ugly in here."

A fist-fight broke out on the dance floor. Blaise Zabini had the misfortune of being too close to the action and got a fist to the temple. Two girls started squalling and clawing at each other; one took of a stiletto heel and threatened the other with it. Hermione was right. The entire mood of the party was going from desperate to hysterical.

Hermione gave Harry a horrified look. "Harry, you need to drink Polyjuice. Your hair is turning black."

Harry reached for the back pocket of his jeans, but the flask wasn't there. Had he put it back the last time he used it? The two martinis made it hard for him to remember. He heard a girl shout. She dropped a familiar-looking flask on the floor as she suddenly grew taller. People pointed and laughed at she sprouted hair on her chest. Harry watched the Polyjuice Potion spread across the floor. People were stepping in it, tracking it all over. Daphne Greengrass slipped in it and fell on her butt, her tulle mini-skirt flying up above her waist, much to the glee of Vincent Crabbe.

"Harry! You've got to get out of here!" Hermione gave him a shove and Harry bolted for the nearest door. It led to a small back office. He sat on a chair in a dark corner, wondering what do to next. Compared to the main area of the warehouse, which was hot and muggy and redolent of perspiration, this spot was blissfully cool. The office door opened, and Draco appeared, his jacket and tie gone. There were stairs to the rear of the office, and the blond boy went up them. In Harry's fuzzy-minded state, following Malfoy seemed like an excellent idea.

The stairwell was lit by a bare lightbulb dangling from a cord. Malfoy unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves as he climbed. He opened a door at the top of the stairs and emerged out onto the warehouse roof, which was illuminated by the lights of a billboard. His body steamed in the winter air. He walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. Harry walked up behind Malfoy, a bit fascinated by how vulnerable the back of his bent neck looked with its fine down of hair. The door was open behind them, music filtering up softly.

"Following me again, Potter?"

Harry stopped in his tracks. "How did you know it's me?"

"It's always you. I'm starting to think you're in love with me." Malfoy turned, a sardonic smile on his face. His shirt was open enough to reveal how gaunt he was; his ribs showed through his skin. Harry gasped when he saw the Dark Mark, even though he'd suspected its existence. Malfoy held his forearm up, looking at the brand. "I've been Marked. Have you ever gone to church?"

"Yes." The Dursleys had gone every Sunday, dragging Harry with them. It was all a part of their effort to seem upright and respectable.

"Do you believe in all that damnation crap? I had a nanny that talked brimstone and hellfire all the time. My parents sacked her because she gave me screaming nightmares. She'd probably say I'm going to Hell because of this Mark. Spending eternity in a lake of fire with demons poking me with pitchforks. A rather silly way to spend one's afterlife, don't you think?" Malfoy's eyes were unfocused and dreamy, the pupils huge. "I love this song." Harry recognized the tune, with its melancholy harmonica and sleepy vocal. 'Flowers in December' by Mazzy Star. "Dance with me, Potter."

Harry was shocked when Malfoy took him in his arms and started to sway, putting his face against Harry's neck. The blond boy smelled of a musky sort of smoke. Malfoy hummed along to the song; it felt like a purr. He slid his hands along Harry's back, raising goosebumps. "You could go to Dumbledore. He could help you," Harry said.

Malfoy gave a humorless chuckle. "And then when the Dark Lord wins, I'll be tortured and killed for being a traitor." Harry felt wetness on his neck. "Do you ever wonder what could have been? If we both weren't so proud." A hand tilted Harry's head up, and tear-salted lips pressed against his. Malfoy let out a small moan when Harry's mouth opened and admitted his tongue. Harry was overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn't name.

Malfoy broke off the kiss when the song ended. He looked at Harry with pity in his wet, blood-shot eyes. "You might as well get measured for your coffin, Potter. You're going to die." The blond boy turned away and went back through the door, unrolling his sleeves as he went down the stairs. Harry stood on the roof in clothes that didn't fit him quite right, shivering in a cold wind that had just started, bringing stinging, hard pellets of snow with it.


End file.
